In The Time of Job When Mischa Was a Zippie – Part 7 (Let's Go Get Stoned Again!)

The 3rd ANNUAL POT PARADE & SMOKE IN– w/ The King of Punk; David Peel, Saturday May 18th 1974, New York (written in collaboration w/ Aron "Pieman" Kay)

 

This was it! Here we were! Both of us wore smiles from ear to ear. Aron immediately took out a joint and fired it up. As for me, I was ecstatic I had managed to even get us both here, as I had never attempted time-tripping with another before. This would have some far reaching implications, I was sure, but that would have to wait. I was here to enjoy what was universally recognized as one of the most exuberant and innovative marijuana rallies the Yippies had ever sprung upon the citizenry of New York.

 

‟Far-freekin’ out—this is incredible! Truly incredible, Mischa!” Aron exclaimed through sparkling eyes. As we found our footing in Washington Square Park, the exhaled herbal smoke enveloped him like a smoldering fire. He passed the joint to my hands, then, in a daze, turned a 360 in total amazement. ‟We’re in the Village.... My God, it’s fuckin’ unreal!”

 

‟Groovy, isn’t it!” I proudly gleamed.

 

‟Damn! Check it out, Mischa. It’s the famous Iron Lung tickets plastered nearly everywhere! Yes, Yes, fuckin’ YES!” his words echoing with joy.

 

‟I know, it’s like they’ve existed here forever.... Aron, isn’t this time-trippin’ a cool way to fly?”

 

‟Hell yeah!” he roared. ‟I’ve had a lot of acid trips, Mischa, but this is one of the finest ever. I still can’t believe that we’ve really traveled through time...yet here we are!”

 

‟Yep, but one thing, Aron. I am still unable to control how long our stay in this time will be. So we’ll have to make the most of however long we have.”

 

‟It’s just so bitchin’ being back here. Damn, I can’t get over it—I can feel the vibe of the streets! It feels fuckin’ great!”

 

‟Here, take another hit, my fellow time-traveling Yipster!” I said, passing him the joint. ‟Get used to it, Pieman. We’ll probably be taking other trips down the road.”

 

‟Oh, wow, Mischa! It’s early morning—we don’t have a lot of time before the Parade starts down 5th Avenue. Ya know, when A.J. Weber and I came up with the idea for the Iron Lung tickets, we never imagined the effect it would have on people.”

 

Aron had previously related to me how the artist, Yossarian (a Yippie artist fashioned by a character from Catch-22) had created the rendering under the design ideas of both Aron and A.J. Weber. The result was an original hand-drawn image of a straggly-haired hippie taking a humongous hit on a rather large marijuana joint. The comical aspect was that he was encased in an iron lung, his bare feet sticking out the other end. So big was his toke, he required this assistance to hold in the smoke.

 

The Iron Lung poster-tickets had been printed at Come-Unity Press (CU Press), where all the Yippie leaflets and posters were printed). The Yippie newspapers, Yipster Times  was printed in Hillsdale, N.J and Overthrow, was printed by a Chinese print shop in the West Village. The end result of everyone’s efforts had an appeal that was near magical to large and diverse groups throughout the city. Everyone was excited about the Yippie ‟Free Pot” Parade.

 

The Yipsters began promoting the Pot Parade by plastering these unique 14” x 8” poster-tickets throughout the subways, on poles of any sort, and nearly any surface they came across. Almost immediately, the phone at 9 Bleecker was ringing off the hook. People responded in force, requesting more and more of the tickets throughout the boroughs. They were mailed out en masse, and even passed out on the streets. As a matter of fact, it was Aron Kay himself who had handed me my ticket from a corner in the Village, as I happened past.

 

As the Pot Parade tickets saturated the area, enthusiasm for the event had become so overwhelming, it had taken on a life of its own.

 

‟Ya know Aron, it’s funny how it all comes back to you.”

 

‟You’re right on, Mischa. This has got to be the best way to travel—it’s like I never left!”

 

The first several moments of this early morning were a busy blur. Unlike my previous time-tripping experiences, I didn’t immediately make a bee-line to blend into my physical body from this time past, but I explained to Aron that we would each need to do this imminently. Before we split up, we agreed to reconnect with each other as the parade entered Central Park, and hang out thereafter.

 

Aron headed off in one direction, and I in another, easily merging into my physical self which I spotted in Washington Square Park. There I was, mingling with about fifty others, about to begin the trek up 5th Avenue.

 

Then we were off. As we weaved our way from the Park toward 5th Avenue, there was the usual chanting, assorted musical instruments, and eclectic outfits, along with protest signs held high by several of the participants. Rounding a corner, I spotted Aron leading our group. He was styling in hip accoutrements, a most colorful Yipster in his sky high-blue and marijuana-green clothing.

 

Our enthusiasm repeatedly inspired onlookers to join our ranks, and by the time we reached 5th Avenue we numbered over a hundred and growing. Some of the marchers inevitably spilled out onto the street. The Man, however, was still intent on confining the parade to the sidewalk, resulting in some random acts of petty harassment.

 

As we continued up 5th Avenue on the left side of the street, police efforts to contain the parade became more and more futile. It was around Madison Square Park that we were reinforced with literally hundreds of hippies, radicals and assorted others, and Aron, like a Pied Piper of potheads in an uphill battle, spotted a break in the traffic and brilliantly led the marchers into the middle of 5th Avenue.

 

The cops, of course, attempted to block this precision-timed maneuver by the Pie Man, but in vain. They soon realized they had no choice but to allow everyone to parade in the middle of the street heading uptown. And so it became that the mighty NYPD pig force was relegated to redirecting traffic—ironically, for our benefit.

 

The cops attempted one final tactic to stop our Parade. They had lined up some cruisers near Rockefeller Center, blocking the street in an attempt to thwart the path of the marchers. Aron, however, was not deterred, and simply walked in between their cars and right on through! Perhaps it was the 5,000-plus others immediately behind him, but the cops appeared dumbfounded, and made no attempt to apprehend the Pie Man. This, of course, inspired the rest of the marchers to follow Aron’s lead, and the parade continued en masse, weaving its way right through the blockade. Some of us even had the exciting idea to run over the parked cruisers—and that is exactly what we did! The cops were powerless against this unstoppable waterfall of people. They could only stand on the sidelines and watch helplessly as the Yippie-inspired participants ran roughshod over their vehicles.

 

As the parade neared Central Park, I spotted Dana Beal among the crowd, but in a very low profile mode (for whatever reason, I did not know).

 

Dana, a highly strategic-minded and determined leader, was the very glue that had held the Yippies together. He, along with a small cadre of activists, brilliantly kept the Yippies relevant and active (especially after the departures of Jerky Reuben and Alibi Offman), with innovative street theatre and protest tactics that ranked among the finest. This activity was centered around one main goal, which was to build a network of youthful enthusiasm around the decriminalization of marijuana. To this end, they were constantly hitting the streets under the Yippie banner, and the Pot Parade of ‛74 was the ultimate example of this.

 

Another important Yippie in attendance was the hippie street busker who would eventually become known as the King of Punk: David Peel. He there with his crew would soon be belting out the hits!

 

As we all began entering the Park, singing and chanting and moving toward Speaker’s Rock, it seemed as if this march was going off without a hitch. After all, I was sure the decriminalization of marijuana was something nearly anyone would support. The people had enjoyed the march and were now expecting the Free Pot! However, something was about to happen....

 

As the people gathered around, only a few hundred joints were tossed out to the multitude. It seems that someone along the route had been accosted and a large bag of pot had been taken from him. The Yippies asked for calm from the crowd, however, the voices began clamoring loudly for free pot... Free Pot!!! A young kid probably still in his mid teens got up and said that he had been robbed of the weed. The crowds jeered at him and chants for Free Pot just grew louder. All the while a few Yipsters behind the rock hastened, rolling a few more joints with the little pot remaining. Soon another handful of loose joints were thrown to the people. Too little too late! The FREE pot that had been promised to all had disappeared.

 

Eventually, a more reserved Yipster stood upon the rock, and announced to the crowd that this was more about sharing than greed for weed. ‟This could be beautiful, like the Pot Parade of ‛73. People there gathered in groups and mellowed, and in the process began making new friends, enjoying the music and singing.”

 

People started relaxing a bit, and a utopian feeling eventually enraptured most, if not everyone. It was such a beautiful day, after all, and in a sense it made me think that the beauty of the smoke is in the uniting of spirit in the celebration of life.

 

As an encore to this wonderful day (and no mistaking his voice), the King of Punk began his verses. Some of the people rose and sang along; others shared whatever pot or refreshments they had. What an example of a community of brothers and sisters coming together. David Peel and his crew kept the groovy vibe positive and fun.

 

Mara-marijuana mara-marijuana, Mara-marijuana mara-marijuana, I like marijuana, You like marijuana, We like marijuana too

I want to be a hippie, Got to get stoned on mara-marijuana  1

 

On and on, the singing and music filled the air. The day most certainly belonged to the Yipsters.

 

It was at this time I could feel myself leavening my body. I left my ‛74 self and began spinning through unexplored space and dimensions of time destination unknown, until another song came through and guided me coming in with greater clarity every second.

 

Color around … All around... See for miles.

And it looks like we’ve made it once again

Yes, it looks like we’ve made it once again

 

It’s a very extraordinary scene, To those who don’t understand 

But what you have seen you must believe, If you can, If you can  2

 

1. Written by David Peel, From the album David Peel & The Lower East Side - Have A Marijuana - (1968)

2. Circle Sky 1968 Michael Nesmith